


into the mist

by marzipan (orphan_account)



Series: fairy tale nonsense one-shots [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marzipan
Summary: You never went north of Baker Street past midnight. From 12 o'clock until the sun rose, the flowers between the cracks grew wild, shrouding the city in vines and jungle, and mist rolled in from the sea and sky. Who knew what kind of monsters lay deep in the unknown? Those who ventured forth never came back.





	into the mist

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Are you real?

You never went north of Baker Street past midnight. From 12 o'clock until the sun rose, the flowers between the cracks grew wild, shrouding the city in vines and jungle, and mist rolled in from the sea and sky. Who knew what kind of monsters lay deep in the unknown? Those who ventured forth never came back.

A knock came at the door, seven minutes before midnight.

“Sir, sir please!”

The door creaked open of its own accord, perhaps helped by the wind, and Sherlock Holmes turned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. He looked the woman up and down, her biography written as plain as day before him. A single mother, overworked. They lived just down the street and his was not the first home they sought help from, but the first and only that had responded in anything beside curses.

“My daughter, she’s gone missing - her name is Rosamund and she’s run down the street and, oh, I must get her back before midnight!”

Sherlock was already down the stairs.

“Well then,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

“Oh please, be careful!”

He must have told her to stay inside, for when he turned back, she was gone. Perhaps it was the mist - no, he had to stay on course, he couldn’t affod to turn this way and that. A glance at his compass would have told him there was no sense in trying to adhere to directions in the jungle of the night, but Sherlock had already done such experiments and knew as much.

Ten steps, then twenty, and he started to lose track of time. How long had he been walking, and how far had he gone? The mist was rising high. Was it midnight already?

“Rosamund!”

The sound of tiny feet running across the sidewalk echoed - something in Sherlock’s mind told him it couldn’t be real. That wasn’t how sound carried on Baker Street, and he knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand.

“Sir?”

A child’s voice.

Sherlock took a tentative step toward it, and then another. To follow it would mean to veer off course. He would have to survive long enough to see the sun rise, else never make it back.

“Rosamund, can you follow the sound of my voice?” he called out.

“I can’t, I’m scared!”

She couldn’t be far. Sherlock hurried his steps.

“Then don’t move, I’m coming.”

“I’m scared!” she said again, and the voice came from a place a good twenty feet right from where it had at first - no footsteps. Had he moved, or had she?

“Rosamund, what can you see?” he asked urgently.

“I’m scared!” The voice distorted, taking on a gravelly tone-

-then a growl.

Something leapt out from the dark, and Sherlock stumbled back - claws had just nearly missed him, and ripped the bottom of his coat.

“Grrrrr.”

It wasn’t a dog, it wasn’t even a wolf. What an unearthly sound.

He heard it snuff, and sniff the air, scenting him. A dark shadow approached, and Sherlock crouched, ready to sprint away.

He waited-

waited-

-and then it lunged.

He jumped, and rolled, and out of nowhere a second beast pinned him, jaws close, the stench of death hot on his face, and-

-BANG!

A brief second of bright light. A sound like a gunshot. A high pitched whimper, and then the beast was gone.

Sherlock looked up to see a pair of round blue eyes looking down at him. She wore a red, hooded cloak, and had short, bright hair. After a moment, she looked away in the direction of where he thought the beasts might have went.

“Thank you for being such good bait,” she said, extending a hand to help him up. “The killshot scared the second one, but it killed the first.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself on his feet. From here he could better see her. She looked - young. Smaller than her formidable power might lead one to expect. His head was swimming.

“Are you real?” he asked.


End file.
